Bloodborne: Hunter's Moon
by Drakius Marethyu Damnati
Summary: Trapped in an endless hunt, a hunter tries to escape the infinite cycle before he completely loses himself. But he is not the only hunter trapped. Nor does he know that his freedom may lie with the remnants of a white-haired huntress.
1. The Masked Hunter

**Bloodborne: Hunter's Moon**

' **Sup everyone. I have decided to compose a Bloodborne fanfic inspired by "Bloodborne: Blood of the Wolf" by Eltyr. Now, there will be similarities, but I will try to make it as different as I can. I am not trying to copy him.**

 **Chapter 1: The Masked Hunter**

 _I am writing this as a record and a warning to those who may come. The following may sound like the crazed ravings of a madman, and you would be partially right. After all, anyone who has been through what I have would be driven a little mad. Let me start with what I am._

 _I am a Hunter. But, unlike the common hunter of Yharnam, I am not a native or a foreigner from the lands outside of the city. At least, my soul isn't. My body is the body of a noble's youngest son. He was not like a normal noble-born child, though. He loved to fight, to hunt, to forge, to explore. He reveled in the feeling of doing things with his own two hands. He created many fine armaments and accessories for his family. He hunted many big game and fought many skilled fighters, all of which brought him glory and renown. And yet, he was not arrogant or vile. He was kind, generous, and humble. He made his family of seven proud, and they flourished. That is, until one dreadful day._

 _The young man whose body my soul inhabits contracted a fatal disease. The eldest son, who traveled, had heard of the healing blood of Yharnam. In an effort to save him, the family gathered their belongings and left for Yharnam. When they arrived, they were ambushed by beasts. The mother and her daughters were sent ahead with the youngest son while the father and two eldest boys fought off the beasts. They didn't make it. The women made it to Ioseka's clinic and found someone to give the youngest son a blood transfusion. An old man in a wheelchair and top hat._

 _After that, is where my soul comes into the equation. My soul comes from another world all tog. A world of horseless carriages, moving picture boxes, flying vehicles, and many more scientific wonders. There, the city of Yharnam is the setting of a interactive moving-picture game where the player controls the hunter. The objective of said game is to complete a long he tasks laid out before you and win. After that, you can restart the cycle as "new game +"._

 _My last memory of my soul's world is one were I went to bed after playing Bloodborne. The next thing I know I'm waking up in the Hunter's Dream. Since then, I have gone through the story of Bloodborne more times than I can count. I been trying to get out of this infernal loop for who knows how long. I have tried EVERYTHING! I HAVE COLLECTED MULTIPLE OF EVERY ITEM! I HAVE TRIED EVERY SITUATION! EVERY OUTCOME! EVERY POSSIBILITY! BUT NOTHING WORKS!_

…

…

 _I had to take a break in order to continue writing. It's maddening. On an odd note, my soul's iPod seems to have come with it. It also seems to never get damaged or need charging. Weird. I am going to rest now. I can't remember the last time I rested since entering this endless hunt. I shall finish this off with my name. This is neither the name of my body, nor the name of my soul. It is a new name which I have taken._

 _My name is Torva. Torva Messor._

 **BEH**

The doll smiled down at the good hunter and covered him with a white fur blanket he was fond of (I'll give you three guesses on where it's from). He was sleeping amongst the Paleblood flowers, up against a gravestone. His hood and mask hid most of is features, save his waist-length silver hair that shine in the moonlight, and his baleful yellow eyes*. And though he rarely took the mask off, the toll the hunt had taken on him was evident on his face. Dark bags hung under his eyes. Three scars ran diagonally from under his left eye down the side of his face and neck. Two scars ran vertically down over his right eye, both intersected by a horizontal scar going across his forehead, stopping just short of his forehead's center.

His attire was one of his own assembly. He wore black shirt under a ebony cuirass with engravings depicting a snarling draconic wolf**. Over this, he wore a hooded long coat made of leather with metal pauldrons attached to the shoulders, holding in place two curtains of black feathers, similar to the ones worn by Eileen the Crow. The pauldrons took the shape of the beast engraved on the cuirass. On his face he wore a mask similar to the Cainhurst helm. It covered the whole face, along with the top, sides, and back of the head. The back and sides stopped halfway to allow for the good winter's silver hair to flow down. The face of the mask was smooth with the exception of two eye holes and a row of vicious teeth. Halfway, between the top and sides, toward the back, two horns sprouted, curve towards the front, curving back in, and curving back put to a point***.

Adorning his hands were a pair of modified Executioner's Gloves. On the top of the arm and back of the hand were metal plates. The top of the arm plate showed signs of a dart launcher build into it. The underside had a retractable blade and grappling hook. The knuckles were covered in spiked metal plates, while the tips of the fingers had metal claws attached to them. Around his waist was a dark gray, leather belt with many pouches attached. His pants were a faded black with many pockets. The pants were tucked into a pair of black leather boots that went up mid-shin. Metal plates covered the toes and the shins for protection. Around his neck he wore a old, white-yellow bone on a leather cord.

His weapons spoke greatly of his skill and knowledge. His gun of choice was a Hunter's Pistol had been modified with archaic inscriptions that increased the power of the arcane bullets he fired. When the doll had asked how he was able to make them, he had replied that he used an arcane energy that flowed within him. Though he admitted that he had no idea how he gained the energy. However, it was his primary weapon that was the most astounding. It was a variation of the Rakuyo. The large blade had a series of three back edges that came to a spike, going down six sevenths of the blade. The smaller blade resembled an elongated saberback bowie knife with a serrated edge running from the base to three fifths of the back of the blade. On the large blade, the tsuba and knuckle-guard are joined and connect to the pommel. Both blades were made of a black metal that seemed to draw all the light around it into itself. Cainhurst blood-tinge engravings lined both blades, showing that it could work like the Chikage. No hunter that the doll had ever met wielded such weapons. The hunter rarely used any other weapon, aside from the Blade of Mercy, and considering how few times he has returned to the dream from dying, the weapons served him well.

The doll rose from her spot next to the good hunter, and proceeded back to the workshop. She had many graves to visit, even if she couldn't remember whose graves she was visiting or why she needed to visit them. She hoped the good hunter would not be made for reading his journal. She had felt compelled to know what he had been writing so feverishly. She was concerned about his belief that his soul was from another world and that he was stuck in a continuous loop. She believed him, as it explained his great Insight, experience, and knowledge. She hoped that he was able to escape the loop, even if it meant never seeing him again. She did not want him to lose himself. If she were being honest, she was quite fond of the good hunter. He always made time to speak her and keep her company. He told her of his hunts, of tales from his soul's world. Humorous tales, tragic tales, joyous tales. Tales of horror, tales of adventure, tales of love. So many stories the good hunter had to tell. He caused a smile and a warmth to overcome her when she watched him tell tales he expressed great emotion for. And when he smiled, a fluttering feeling occurred in her chest area. She had no idea what the feeling was.

The cry of a raven caught her attention. Turning to a nearby gravestone, she spotted a raven with glowing silver eyes staring back at her. The doll knew it was observing her and that it was far more than it seemed.

"Hello, little one." The doll said with a courtesy. "Where did you come from?"

" _From a place between reality and fantasy."_ A smooth, feminine voice intoned. _"I have come to make good on a promise I made to the good hunter. But to do so, I will need your help, little doll."_

 **BHM**

In the Hunter's Nightmare, the top of the Astral Clock Tower was deathly silent. Within, the lifeless form of Lady Maria of Cainhurst sat in her chair. Ever vigilant over the entrance to the Fishing Hamlet. The moans and cries of the afflicted patients and beasts echoing and reverberating through the clock tower, creating a symphony of suffering and despair.

Maria doesn't know how long she has stood guard over the secrets of the Old Hunters. Weeks? Months? Years? She could not tell. She so desperately wished for this Nightmare to end. For the inhabitants to no longer suffer. For the curse to no longer afflict the city of Yharnam. For the secrets to fade into Oblivion.

But, until such a time came, she would stand guard. For that was all she could do. She had no right to end the Nightmare herself, when she was one of the people responsible for its existence. There was no redemption for one who had sinned as greatly as she. All that awaited was never-ending torment. So, she would wait and stand guard.

For she was Lady Maria of the Astral Clock Tower. And this was her burden.

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 **So, what do you think? There are similarities between this and Eltyr's story, but I think I did a decent job of differentiating the two. Tell me what you think with a review.**

 **Also, the noted parts of the story:**

 ***- Think of the color of Corruption in the Darksiders 2 game.**

 ****- It looks like the head if the Zinogre from the Monster Hunter series.**

 *****- It looks like Ichigo's Second Hollow Form mask that occurs when he becomes a hollow in his fight with Ulquiorra. The differences are the Torva's is solid white, and the horns look like the ones on the girl in this video: watch?v=cnVWK4sad_E**


	2. The Samurai & The Sorceress

**So, I have decided that I will only be continuing my reading fanfiction for chapters 3 and 4. So, anyone who wants to take over, then talk to Namikaze88. Also, I have decided to write a Darksiders fanfiction. So, be expecting that. Anyway, let's begin chapter 2.**

 **Chapter 2: The Samurai and the Sorceress**

Torva stopped the song he was listening to and looked to the sky. He was perched atop one of the many buildings that dotted Yharnam. He had thought he had heard something. He stilled himself, focusing his enhanced hearing that he gained from the old blood and the long hunt.

He heard the sound again: a loud, inhuman scream.

"I know that sound." He said has he rose to his feet, the Death Song disappearing in wisps of smoke. "That's the Cleric Beast. But I should not be able to hear it unless…"

He stood there for a second longer, before taking of like a bat out of Hell. He jumped down and raced across the streets, slaying any beast or crazed Yharnamites that crossed his path, heading for the bridge that lead to the Cathedral Ward. This city, which has held him prisoner for so long, hid no secrets from him. He knew them all through his continuous hunt.

While he had no idea what to expect when he reached the bridge, what Torva did see was enough to stun him in inaction. There stood the Cleric Beast, facing of against a Hunter that Torva had never seen before. Based on the Hunter's build, they were male. He was dressed in the clothes of a Hunter, but the coat was modified to include a hood, reminiscent of the one on Foreigner Set. He wore the gauntlets and boots of the knights of the Cainhurst Vilebloods. His though were stained red. He wielded three Chikage in their standard form: two in his hands, and one in his mouth. A crimson sash held the sheathes in place on the left side. Around his neck, he wore a red scarf with tattered ends, the scarf pulled up to cover his face from the nose down.

Torva started to scale the nearest building, utilizing his finely honed strength and agility to reach the roof. He observed the battle with great scrutiny. The unknown Hunter wielded his three blades with great skill and dexterity. He countered each of the Cleric Beast's strikes with the proficiency of a master swordsman. Not a single move was wasted. Which made Torva wonder why he had not struck the beast down yet. The Hunter had several opportunities to do so. The answer came when Torva saw the smirk and glee in the swordsman's eyes.

"He's toying with the Cleric Beast." Torva softly muttered to himself. This spoke levels of the swordsman's confidence and experience. Only the most proficient or the most arrogant of Hunters would act as such against a beast of that size. "I do not know you. You are new, which means either the loop has ended, or it has begun to change…"

Torva continued to contemplate the things as he watched the fight. Then, he noticed a shift in the swordsman's posture. He had grown bored with the fight. He sheathed his blades and, moving has swift as an autumn wind, charged the beast. The beast charged as well, rearing back its left arm. The swordsman grabbed one sword and as the two passed, the swordsman drew the sword. They stopped a few feet from each other, the Cleric Beast splitting from shoulder to hip as the swordsman disengaged the blood-tinge and sheathed the blade. Torva smirked at the scene. 'He could be a powerful ally.'

Torva ran to the other side of the roof, before turning around and jumping off the roof onto the bridge. This caused the swordsman to turn around, and stared at him with a wary gaze, one hand resting on the hilt of one of his Chikage.

"Hail, Hunter. I am glad to see that I'm not the only sane Hunter left in this accursed city." Torva called out while slowly approaching. "Tell me, how many hunts will this have made for you?"

The swordsman's eyes widened a little at the question before he spoke. "This is my fourth hunt. How many have you been on. And who are you?"

"I lost count many hunts ago." Torva replied as he came to a stop. "I am Torva Messor."

"Clemis of Hysteria, Knight of Cainhurst Castle. Why have I not seen you before? Surely we would have crossed paths in the Dream?" Clemis inquired.

"I wondered the same. I assume that something, probably a Great One, has been keeping us from meeting." Torva replied, rubbing the chin of his mask in thought. A distant howl sounded. "Perhaps we should continue this conversation in the Dream, so we are not interrupted."

The swordsman nodded in agreement.

-BHM-

"So, you were a samurai who fell ill with an incurable disease. A friend recommended you see a healer in the mountains." Torva summarized. "Upon reaching the healer, you were told that she couldn't heal you, but she could send you to somewhere you could be healed. You received a tonic that she told you would take you there. You drank it, and awoke to find Gehrman giving you a blood transfusion. Since then, you have been on the hunt four times. And on each of the past three hunts, you swore your loyalty to Queen Annalise, and let Gehrman kill you."

"That is correct." Clemis stated, seated in a chair across from Torva at the work table. The Doll came up with a tray of tea and milk that Torva had stored in his chest. She prepared a cup of tea for Clemis and handed it to him. "Thank you."

Torva sighed, and accepted a cup of milk from the Doll. "Thank you, Doll."

"You are welcome, good Hunters." Doll said as she proceeded out to the graves.

"I must say, that is a rather dull story for such a unique samurai." Torva commented. "I have only known of two swordsman who wield three swords, and only one of them used them simultaneously."*

"Most would think you mad if they heard yours." Clemis countered. Torva laughed at that.

"Ain't that the truth!" Torva exclaimed. The two fell into silence after that. Clemis glanced at Torva's weapon.

"If I may ask," Clemis asked, causing Torva to looked towards him. "where did you come across that blade? It looks similar to the blades used by the Vilebloods, but different, and I have never seen any blade like it in Cainhurst Castle."

Torva looked at his Rakuyo and his eyes gained a sad look in them. Grabbing the blades, he put them on the table, both in the sheathes he had made for them. "These blades, which I named Kuro'awaremi, are weapons of my own make. They are based of the Rakuyo, wielded by Lady Maria of Cainhurst, a cousin to your queen. My greatest opponent, and greatest regret."

Clemis was silent for a moment before asking, "Who was she, and what happened to her?"

"…She was one of Gehrman's students." Torva finally muttered out. "After...certain events, she was assigned to watch over the research center at the Clock Tower. I found her after entering the Hunter's Nightmare, a place where Hunters who have succumbed to the blood go. She…was one who bore a burden that she didn't deserve."

Silence followed his statement, until…

"FUCK!"

Both Torva and Clemis were startled, looked at each other, and raced out to the front of the workshop. Arriving in the gardens, they find a female Hunter. She had a slim face, caramel skin, ethereal green eyes, pale red lips, and black hair that was waist-long and wild. She had two jagged scars over her right eye that went down and ended level with her lips. She had a yellow-green tattoo on her left cheek that went down her neck. It took the form of a tribal leaf.** She was decked out in the Crowfeather set, but instead of the mask and hat, she wore a band of red cloth reminiscent of a gypsy's, and she had the Executioner's gloves on her hands. In her ears were large gold loop earrings and a smaller one in her lip. From her side hung the Blades of Mercy and Evelyn. She was currently kneeling and pounding the ground, the doll standing near, ever the patient one.

"Damn cock-sucking, piece-of-shit beasts! I was this fucking close to lighting the same lamp! Aaaaaaaagh! I hate this fucking cit-" She ranted before Torva loudly cleared his throat. She looked towards them, and blinked owlishly. Raising an eyebrow, she spoke. "The Hell? Since when are there other hunters in this weird dream place!?"

"Technically speaking," Torva starts, "there's always at least one hunter in the Dream. And until I met Clemis here, we both thought we were the only Paleblood Hunters. Apparently, that is not true."

The female Hunter gained a confused look at this. "Then how the fuck have we not crossed paths before? Did we just keep missing each other, or is something keeping us from meeting each other?"

"Most likely the latter. Though the who, how, and why are still a mystery." Torva stated, glancing at his silent companion. Who, he noticed, had his hand on the hilt of one of his swords.

The lady snorted and stood, brushing her clothes off. "Well, at least it's nice to meet some fellow Hunters that aren't bat-shit insane. The name's Raven. Raven Hooke. I'm guessing the guy with the swords is Clemis, so who are you?"

"Torva Messor," Torva said with a bow, "at your service."

"Well now." A fourth voice said. Raven started at this, while Clemis whirled around, crouched and ready to draw a blade at a moment's notice. Torva simply turned to see Gehrman as he rolled up in his wheelchair. "This Dream has never hosted so many Good Hunters at once. Perhaps this is a sign of a long hunt ahead."

Raven scoffed at that. "You always say that, you old geezer. I hardly doubt that this one's going to be any fucking different."

Clemis glared. "Show some respect! Master Gehrman is our senior and the first of us all. You would do well to remember that."

"Wait…" Torva said, "This isn't your first hunt, is it?"

Raven scratched the back of her head and replied. "Well, yes and no. It's hard to explain and you'd think I'm crazy if I told you."

Torva smirked. "Try us."

-BHM-

"So, wait." Raven started. "You mean to tell me that all three of us have on this same hunt for at least two times?"

Torva nodded. "That is correct."

"…Damn." Was Raven's intelligent reply.

"The real question is, what is keeping us in this loop?" Clemis questioned. He turned to Torva. "You said that it could possibly be a Great One."

"Yes." Torva replied. "Though it can't be any of the ones I've slain. None of them displayed any abilities that would signify that they had such powers…Raven, how exactly did your last hunt end?"

"I remember facing Mergo's Wet Nurse, and returning to the Dream, but I can't remember what I did when I got there." She said, eyes closed, and hand to her head.

"Hmm." Torva sounded. He got up and moved towards his trunk. "At any rate, we need to head to Yharnam."

The two other looked at him, then at each other, then back. "Why?"

Torva placed his Hunter's Pistol in the trunk and pulled out another pistol. It was long, like Evelyn, but it was thicker, and in place of the wood, it had an ashen material that resembled bone. Attaching it to his back, he turned around and smirked.

"Because we've got a family to save."

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 **So, here's chapter 2 of the story. Hope you like it.**

 ***- The people mentioned here are Zoro Roronoa from One Piece and Rath from Battleborn.**

 ****- The leaf-looking war paint from Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim**


	3. Chapter 3 Announcement

**Hello, everyone. I hate to do this to you all, but I'm canceling this story. I'm not sure where to go with it. I will eventually write a new one, but it will be part of a series of self-inserts. I will, however be putting up a the first five chapters of a LoZ and RWBY crossover at some point, so if you like those two stories, plz check them out.**


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